Crazy On You
by NothingImpossible
Summary: Killian and Emma get into a fight, but he doesn't fight back the way she wants him to, and it upsets her even more.


**A/N:** I wanted to write this for a while, but it was thanks to an anonymous prompt for "CS + fighting" that kicked me to actually do it. Thank you, nonnie, I needed that.

* * *

"Why won't you answer me, Killian?" she shouted, slamming the door as she stepped in behind him. "Don't you have _anything_ to say?"

"Aye, love," he said, turning back to face her, his eyes flashing angrily as he yanked off his jacket. He tossed it over the bannister haphazardly, something he'd never do normally but, gods, she was just so _infuriating_. "I've got _plenty_ to say, I assure you."

"Then say it! Yell at me, argue with me! _Say_ something besides just _standing_ there!"

He could feel his jaw clenching tightly, his teeth grinding with the pressure of holding back his utter _rage_. _Control it, Killian_ , he admonished himself. _Control it!_ Carefully, slowly, he managed a shuddering breath, his eyes closing as he let the air out through his nose.

"No," he said, his voice just above a whisper. He opened his eyes to meet her green ones, the anger in them obvious.

"Really?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she glared at him. "So, what, you're just going to take it, whatever I say? You're gonna say nothing? Or just walk away from me?"

He swallowed hard, the burn of adrenaline through his veins calling to him - _fight, fight, fight_. He clenched his fist and beat back the urge with a slow breath.

"I'll never walk away from you," he whispered hoarsely. Gods, why couldn't she see that? Why did she insist on holding onto the fears he thought she'd long since overcome? "But I'll not fight you, either."

"What happened to the famous Captain Hook, huh?" she taunted, her tone ice and fire at the same time. "What happened to the man who used to be so _consumed_ with darkness? What happened to you, that you just _give up_?"

He almost cracked, then. Almost. Instead, he approached her, forcing his steps measured, even, controlled. Slowly, he leaned next to her and whispered in her ear. "Be careful what you wish for, love," he said quietly, his voice low and dark. "You let out that side of me, it may not be so simple getting it back in."

She snorted, stepping back. "You're _threatening_ me now?"

He backed away, jaw tightening again, painfully so. "Not a threat, Emma," he ground out quietly. "Don't push me to fight you, please."

"You know what? Fine." She stomped past him and up the stairs. "I'll walk away then. If you've got nothing to say, then don't. I'm going to bed."

He remained motionless as she reached the top of the staircase, listening as she slammed the door to their bedroom. With a shaky sigh, he ran his hand through his hair, headed to the closet, and took out his sword.

* * *

He sat out on the porch step with the light off, the glowing haze from the sleepy town the only light illuminating the backyard. Bright sparks glistened briefly on his lap, sent up from the steel sword that rested across his knees as he ran the sharpening stone along the edge. Keeping the correct angle in the dark by centuries of habit, he repeated the passes in a rhythm almost like music. Slide, slide, slide. Short, short, long. He paused, brushing off the edge as he flicked his thumb across it.

Almost.

He picked up the stone once more and continued his quiet song.

The door opened behind him, soft footsteps padding out toward the step where he sat. He didn't look up, didn't stop his rhythmic motions or indicate he heard her at all.

She'd let him know when she was ready. She always did.

He continued, focusing on the blade across his lap instead while he waited, continuing the pattern he'd done a thousand times, if not more. Between passes of the stone on steel, he heard her sigh softly.

"I'm sorry."

He stopped the stone's movements, still facing the open yard.

"I forgive you, Emma," he said quietly, and picked up the rhythm he'd left off.

Slide, slide, slide. Short, short, long.

"Just… tell me something, Killian," she whispered. "Why? Why don't you yell back when we get into these arguments? Why do you just stand there and let me go crazy on you?"

He stopped again, this time placing the stone on the porch beside him, the blade on his other side, as he twisted his arm back toward her, his hand reaching blindly for hers. He touched her fingers gently, wrapping his around them, tugging for her to come sit down. She did, but he didn't look at her, and he was certain she hadn't seen him, either.

"Emma," he sighed, rubbing his thumb across her hand, "you have no idea the darkness I'm capable of."

"I think I have some idea," she answered softly. "We _were_ the Dark Ones together, I don't think I can forget that, even if I try."

He shook his head, though he knew she hadn't seen it. "Not like that. I mean as me, as Hook, as… as Killian." He fell silent for a moment, trying to get himself under control again before continuing. "I don't want you to know that side of me, Emma. Hell, I wish it weren't there at all. But it is, it always has been, and no matter how much I fight it, it doesn't seem to go away. There's this… anger like you've never known, that you can't imagine, _burning_ inside me, until I lash out against anyone and everyone. I can't… I _won't_ let that out again, if I can help it."

He finally turned to face her, finally let her see the tear tracks that he hadn't bothered to wipe away while working on his sword. She had matching, glistening lines on her cheeks.

"I won't use it against you, Emma. Not ever, no matter what."

She nodded slowly, regarding him carefully in the dimness around them. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about-"

"I know," he smiled sadly, interrupting her. "It's all right, I forgave you hours ago."

"I just…" Her grip on his hand tightened then and she ducked her head down to watch the way his fingers trailed along her palm. "I get so _mad_ when you don't say anything back, you know?" She hesitantly raised her gaze to meet his. "I don't _want_ to fight you, but I… I don't know," she sighed.

"Sometimes it feels like you need to get it out," he said quietly. "And that's fine, I don't mind you ranting to me, I don't. But I can't let it get to me, I can't be your sparring partner like that, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't argue the way you want me to, I'm sorry I hurt you even when I'm trying to protect you. I'm so sorry, Emma."

She looked at him, understanding shining through the tears in her eyes as she nodded. "It's okay. I… I'll try not to push you."

"Thank you."

He gently tugged on her hand, pulling her close. She leaned her head against his shoulder and let out a quiet sigh.

"I just want to know what you're thinking sometimes," she murmured.

"And I'm happy to share with you, love," he replied, nuzzling a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Just not in the heat of battle like that, all right?"

"Yeah, okay."

She kneaded her hand through his, weaving a silent pattern into his palm with her fingers, the rhythm he recognised as his calming tempo carving their own dance on his skin. Slide, slide, slide. Short, short, long.

"I still think you were wrong," she muttered, but he could hear the smile in her voice, and he couldn't help his own from spreading across his lips.

"Aye, that could very well be true," he said. "I'll happily let you win the argument in either case, if it means my true love isn't a loser."

She laughed at that, her voice light in the darkness around them as she playfully tapped his arm. "And don't you forget it, buddy."

"That you're my true love?" He pressed another kiss into her hair. "I surely won't, Emma. Not ever."

She squeezed his hand in the dark, her fingers continuing to rub out the rhythm of grinding he'd traded for her touch. Slide, slide, slide. Short, short, long.

She whispered, "Good."


End file.
